Did anyone else witness the can of whoop-buttocks that the Tigers opened up on the Yankees last night? How sweet was that?

And a cool thing ESPN did, I thought: they invited Ernie Harwell to join the announcers for a few innings. Harwell left after the third inning, but it was great. They let him reminisce a little about past Tigers teams (playoffs in 1987, 1984, 1972, 1968), and then he starts mentioning very specific stats about a particular Tiger team from 1921 or some such date. Good times.

Let me laud the benefits of Paste Magazine ("Signs of Life in Music, Film, & Culture"):

• 20+ track sampler music CD in every issue. Every sampler is like the best 80 minutes of radio you’ve ever heard, and you’re guaranteed not to know all the musicians on the disc. I have 24 of the 25 samplers on my harddrive at work (#4 came shattered), and I use them like my own private radio station.
• A DVD every other issue (at least that was the pattern... we’ll see with the next one) that includes music videos and short films.
• It’s now published monthly. Paste started in 2002 as a quarterly magazine.
• Lots of reviews of music, books, and movies that are all the rage with the kids these days.

The October 2006 (#25) issue’s cover story is on Zach Braff. Cool, yo. There are also articles on The Decemberists, Bavarian beer, and... did I mention music and books reviews? They got lots. Anyone want to gift me copy of Thirteen Moons?

This issue also delves in to “The 24 Best Hours on Television” in which we find this little gem (and some minor personal vindication) from contributor Reid Davis:

“You’re not supposed to be watching this” is what each week’s feminine-hygiene ad barrage says. So why do I, a red-blooded hetero male, love Gilmore Girls? There’s the snappy, Front Page-worthy dialogue referencing everything from Ava Gardner to XTC. There’s Paste-caliber musical knowledge (Grant-Lee Phillips busking; Sebastian Bach delivering sly self-parody; a cameo from Sonic friggin’ Youth!), and characters you want to simultaneously hug and strangle. (Scrubs’ Turk said it best: “I’m so mad at Lorelai, I can’t even speak right now.”) It has nothing to do with my wife having grown up in a small Connecticut town a half-hour from Hartford. I swear.

Other good shows for which Paste agrees with me:

• House
• Scrubs
• Battlestar Galactica

Minor beefs from the list:

• I never got in to the NBC’s version of The Office. I prefer the original Ricky Gervais version.
• Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip hadn’t even aired when Paste #25 went to print. Sure, important editors of big, fancy magazines may get previews before mere mortals. And Aaron Sorkin does have a pretty good track record. But the blurb strikes me as a bought-and-paid-for NBC advertisement.
  

Let me laud the benefits of Paste Magazine:

• 20+ track sampler music CD in every issue. Every sampler is like the best 80 minutes of radio you’ve ever heard, and you’re guaranteed not to have heard of all of the musicians beforehand.
• A DVD every other issue (at least that was the pattern... we’ll see with the next one) that includes music videos and film shorts.
• It’s now a monthly mag (it started quarterly back in ... then bi-monthly...)
• Lots of reviews of music, books, and movies that are all the rage with kids these days. Anyone want to buy me copy of Thirteen Moons?

The October 2006 (#25) issue’s cover story is on Zach Braff and career and where he’s heading in the near future. And this issue delves in to “The 24 Best Hours on Television” in which we find this little gem and some minor personal vindication from contributor Reid Davis:

“You’re not supposed to be watching this” is what each week’s feminine-hygiene ad barrage says. So why do I, a red-blooded hetero male, love Gilmore Girls? There’s the snappy, Front Page-worthy dialogue referencing everything from Ava Gardner to XTC. There’s Paste-caliber musical knowledge (Grant-Lee Phillips busking; Sebastian Bach delivering sly self-parody; a cameo from Sonic friggin’ Youth!), and characters you want to simultaneously hug and strangle. (Scrubs’ Turk said it best: “I’m so mad at Lorelai, I can’t even speak right now.”) It has nothing to do with my wife having grown up in a small Connecticut town a half-hour from Hartford. I swear.

Other shows for which Paste agrees with me:

• House
• Scrubs
• Battlestar Galactica

Minor beefs from the list:

• I never got in to the NBC’s version of The Office. The British one, though: Wow. Good stuff.
• Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip hadn’t even aired when Paste #25 went to print. Sure, important editors of big, fancy magazines may get previews before mere mortals. But the blurb almost reads like a bought-and-paid-for NBC advertisement.
  

I’ve interrupted my self-imposed, unintentional blogging hiatus to re-bring you what you really should not have been missing:

A return to “what I did yesterday.”

So, let’s see... by the time you read this, it’ll be not today, so my ‘yesterday’ is right now.

Today... er, yesterday... I got tossed about on the waves at work and left not feeling like I accomplished anything. As a pick-me-up, I left a few minutes early to get some time in on my fancy bicycle before the sun went down.

I always feel better after riding. If I don’t ride for awhile, I start to miss it. My knees and legs start to ache from inactivity, and I start going a little stir crazy. As I'm in my car or walking down the street, I wistfully watch other cyclist pass me, wishing I could be where they are.

When the exception of the “ache from inactivity,” I used to have the same reaction to a lack of TV and corn chips. Used to.

After I got home from the ride, and while I’m feeling all full of myself, a friend stops by and suggests that I need to date more.

Talk about a buzz killer.

Other hikes I am just now getting around to mentioning:

Stewart Mountain -- Stewart is the ridge that keeps sea-level Bellingham from having unobstructed Mount Baker views. The land is owned/maintained/whatever by a logging company and, presumably, the power company (what with all of the power lines going up, though, and over the hills there).

I followed the logging/access road that heads up the hill from the parking lot at the North Lake Whatcom Park. (Don’t follow the trail directions in the link unless you really want leisurely stroll along the waterside). Walk around the gate and follow the road up the hill. And up. No joke about the ups. The first two miles are killer. At any time you can turn and see views of Lake Whatcom and some peak-a-boo views of Bellingham (trees and power lines may obstruct your view). Eventually the road winds back in through the trees and levels slightly. When you reach the crossroads, go straight (and under the power lines) another mile or so until you reach a Y in the road. Go left. Go up. Stop when you can look down on Acme and out to Mount Baker.

If you go: you’ll be spending a lot of time walking through clear cut, so you may be exposed to a lot of sun. I don't have all of my facts and figures... there may be anywhere from 2000ft to 3000ft elevation gain. Whatever it is,

Oyster Dome -- There are a number of different trailheads for this hike. The hard trail starts down on Chuckanut Drive and zigzags up the hill. The less hard one (the one I prefer) starts on Blanchard Mountain at a parking lot that is also a launching area for hang gliders.

The Bat Caves are the coolest. You can scramble around on top of the rocks or, if you brought a flashlight or head lamp, explore some of the caves created when all of the rocks fell. Careful if it's wet, though.

Instead of my rambling on about it, check out this article from the Seattle-PI. The article is 8 years old, but it's still good.

I’m turning my snark mode off for this one. Mostly.

Last weekend Erland, Ben, and I hiked to Hannegan Peak (Forest Service, Hiker Bob, Green Trails #14 Mt Shuksan).

The hike begins at the end of Hannegan Pass Rd and follows Ruth Creek before the trail climbs a total of 2000 feet to Hannegan Pass. The first 3 miles is a gradual incline, but the 4th mile to the Pass is at least an 1000-ft elevation gain. The next mile to the peak is also 1000 vertical feet.

At 6100 feet, the views up there are pretty cool. Canadian mountains to the north; full view of the Cascades to the west; Ruth Mountain “right there”, and Shuksan and Baker peaking out behind the Nooksack Ridge to our south. And there are a few patches of snow, even at the the beginning of September.

Our target was to be back to Bellingham by noon, but we (ahem... I) totally underestimated how long that distance and elevation gain would take. Plus we spent at least 45 minutes at Hannegan Peak just sitting there.

If you go, prepare for a long day. In fact, many people backpack this trail through Hannegan Pass and on to Copper Mountain or through Whatcom Pass. This being Labor Day weekend, we saw our share of both day hikers and backpackers (55 people, 5 dogs, 5 horses).

Hot tip: there’s a great campsite up near Hannegan Peak. That is, there’s a level spot, it has a great view, and there are a few trees that might offer at least a little bit of protection. However, the closest water is, um, not close. Bring lots.

I love football.

No, really. It’s a game I really love. I’ve skipped church for it; I’ve cut phone calls short because of it. I once held back my bladder's natural urges for nearly an entire half because the game was not worth leaving (but that was before TiVo).

I never played it, though, except in backyards. And I still have a hard time with some of the football-ese. But the grit, determination, and perseverance it requires to win a game in the NFL or even in the college ranks is amazing. You can’t just show up and win. You need to prepare, practice, and execute. <donald-miller-mode>It’s a metaphor for life, really.</donald-miller-mode>

Because of my admiration for this game, I can instantly connect with any other football geek/fantasy football player if ever our paths meet. Start with the ice breaker, “So who went first in your draft?” and I’ve got a friend for life.

Sometimes, though, even I can’t take some of the goofiness. The rest of this is an open letter to that guy at the pub who was constantly using first person plural pronouns when referring to the Seahawks:

Hey, dude. You’re a pretty excited fan, huh? Yeah, the team looks pretty good this year. Hope those receivers can hold up. Yup, the first game is at Detroit. I’ll put 5 bucks on that, sure, even though the Lions are starting Kitna.

Oh, what was that? Did you say “we”? “We drove down and scored...”? “We pulled that game out at the end...”? “And when we went to the Super Bowl...”?

You own season tickets, huh? Oh, right... your dad does... riiiiight. So I can see that this game is important to you. You get excited, you cheer the team on, you rejoice when they score, you complain when something goes wrong. Cool. Do that. All that.

But, dude... Puh-lease. You don’t play. You don't coach. You don't clean out the lockers of the cut players. You don’t get tackled, you don’t commit penalties, you don’t score touchdowns. You watch. You. Don’t. Play.

Do not think for one minute that you can assume that you’re part of the team. The city doesn’t own the team, your daddy doesn’t own the team, and you don’t know any of the players. Hasselbeck does not send you Christmas cards. You don’t go to church with Alexander. You didn’t even send flowers to Jackson after his last surgery. You are an outsider. A stranger. They don’t know you. And if it weren’t for your credit card, the team wouldn’t care about you.
 
They are them. You are you. “We” is a term best left to Green Bay Packer fan. If you continue to use it injudiciously, the next thing you know you’re going to blame the refs, the other team, and/or the other team’s public address announcer for the crummy things that your stinky team commits on or off the field.

So here’s your charge in a nutshell: Don’t act like you’re from Wisconsin.

And if you are, Bummer. We all have our own cross to bear.

No, not wino (we can argue about this later). I said "whiner."

I just had a birthday, and traditionally, the birthday boy gets birthday gifts. And I did receive some exceptionally thoughtful gifts and notes from some incredibly gracious people. Thank You, all!

Receiving gifts, though, for some sinful reason, often turns my thoughts to other things (material or otherwise) that I don't have.

I can be an impatient jerk most days. It goes like this: I want stuff => I can't have stuff => I whine like an attention-starved puppy. I could stand to be a little more grateful rather than wishing for things I don't have.

But yet I still want. And it's not that I shouldn't ask:

If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!
         -- Matthew 7:11

So I guess if I ask and I don't receive, it could mean that what I'm asking for isn't a good gift.

Or maybe it means that I have wrong motives:

You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions.
         -- James 4:33

Or maybe there's a bigger picture that I don't understand:

Jesus answered, "It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him."
         -- John 9:33

At the very least, I can know that what I have right now are still good gifts, and that my Father in heaven actually cares (see also James 1:17). He did, after all, show how much he cares by coming to earth in person for us. For me.

Isaiah expressed part of what kind of joy this particular gift should inspire:

You will say in that day:

I will give thanks to you, O Lord,
for though you were angry with me,
your anger turned away,
that you might comfort me.

Behold, God is my salvation;
I will trust, and will not be afraid;
for the Lord God is my strength and my song,
and he has become my salvation.

With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation. And you will say in that day:

Give thanks to the Lord,
call upon his name,
make known his deeds among the peoples,
proclaim that his name is exalted.

Sing praises to the Lord, for he has done gloriously;
let this be made known in all the earth.
Shout, and sing for joy, O inhabitant of Zion,
for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.

         -- Isaiah 12

From the Montgomery (Alabama) Advertiser: "At one site in Barbour County, the [yellow jacket] nest was as large as a Volkswagen Beetle... Attached to two walls and under the slab, the nest had to be removed in sections..."

Caption for picture on the right: "A yellow jacket nest engulfs the inside of a 1955 Chevrolet on Harry Coker's Tallassee property on Thursday. Gigantic yellow jacket nests have been found in old barns, unoccupied houses, cars and underground cavities across the southern two-thirds of Alabama.  -- Rob Carr"

When speculating on how the nest could get so huge, entomologist Dr. Charles Ray recites a line as if this were a B-movie: "...or that the queens have developed some way to cooperate."

The whole story is here.

Thanks to Foster for the link.

Ladies and Gentlemen (and Todd),

I’m proud to introduce you to the newest member of my personal bike fleet:

2006 Specialized Roubaix Elite

This Roubaix, classified as an endurance road bike, has a carbon fiber frame (I could throw it like a baseball), fancy Shimano components, and a sale price. A fool and his money are quick to buy a bike.

I’m not exactly sure how to express how cool I think this is. It just is. Because.

Because I’ve been thinking about buying a new road bike for the past 2 years. Because the mountain bike just isn’t doing it for me on my 20-mile evening rides. Because I have never in my life owned a new vehicle of any kind (my GT and my Rockhopper are pre-owned and were $75 and free, respectively; the motorized cars have all been used).

Buying the bicycle was a bit of trip itself.

My pastor/friend Bob knew I was interested in buying a bicycle, and he suggested a time (Saturday morning) and a place to check out a few models. And with my house sale finally complete, I was a little more free to spend.

I met Bob at his house and we rode over to the first bike shop. While Bob got his handlebar replaced on his new bike, the salesdude introduced me to a few Treks. He didn’t take any off the rack or suggest that I ride any, and I may have scared him a bit with my comparatively small budget (in my view, my budget was pretty darn big, thankyouverymuch). I didn’t have a strong attraction towards any of those bikes; Bob and I headed on to the next shop.

We walked in to Fairhaven Bike and Mountain Sports and Bob found the guy who sold Bob his new bike the day before. Erich was very clear on what was available, gave me a few ideas on which models were good for what, sized me up, and gave me a bike to test drive.

See, the thing is, I’ve never really ridden a road bike before. It was different (everyone said it would be), but not so weird (riding a bike is still just riding a bike). I could do this. In fact, I did do it.

But not immediately. I didn’t want to jump in head first--I thought that would be impulsive and imprudent. No, instead Bob and I left to grab a burger and a milkshake, just to mull things over. And because milkshakes are yummy. We got to talking about the bicycle, the church in Whatcom County, the spiritual significance of milkshakes, East Coast/Left Coast differences... a little bit of everything. We finished the lunch and Bob asked, “So you wanna go back to the bike shop and...” “Yes.” I interrupted, to Bob’s amusement.

We went back to the bike shop, and I told the guy, “I want the bike. But all I have is $6 in my pocket.” I was on my bike, and when I go out on my bike, I only take my ID and a few bucks. He said, “That’s good enough for me.”

$6 down, and a promise to come back later. That’s a sweet thing. I bought the first bike I rode, and it was over my budget. Not so sweet. Except that the bike really is "all that."

I came back later in the day to pick up the bike and pay the balance. Because of the sale, I got enough store credit to pay for pedals and shoes (which’ll happen this week or next).

Since Saturday was a busy day, I had to wait until Sunday morning before church to get in the inaugural ride. The morning was grey but not wet, and I took a route that led me in to and back out of the fog. The bike handled wonderfully, but the rider had issues getting comfortable.

In a moment of coolness, though, I climbed a hill on Smith Rd and caught up to a dude on a Trek mountain bike. I’m sure he was thinking two things: “How in the world did this fat guy catch me?”; and, “Man, that’s a cool bike.” I was thinking, “Why did it take me so long to catch this old guy on a mountain bike”; and, “Man, this is a cool bike.”

I honestly couldn’t tell too much of a difference in my climbing and/or my overall sense of ability riding this road bike versus my other bikes, except when climbing the final incline to my house. I wasn’t nearly as wasted after the climbing was over, and the climb itself didn’t seem as difficult. So that’s new.

All in all, I’m still very happy with the bicycle. Probably because I’ve only ridden it once. And with rain in the forecast, the bike will likely stay in the living room where it belongs (the garage is for dirty bikes... this is a clean bike). And I can't wait to give it another go.